


Brilliant

by butterflykeyboard



Category: StarCraft, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: F/F, StarCraft - Freeform, eSports, pro gaming, starcraft 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflykeyboard/pseuds/butterflykeyboard
Summary: Talent and practice. That's all one needs to succeed, right?A story about professional gaming and becoming the best you can be.





	1. Prologue

“Get some rest. Eat a nice dinner, don’t stay up late – in fact, don’t even start up your computer.”

“Yes Coach.”

Her coach leans against the doorway, waiting for her to pack up. Her practice keyboard and mouse go into her backpack, along with her bottle. Then there’s worn and battered notebook, its front faded and edges eroded from its service.

She keeps the book in her hands until she boards the train home. Now she opens it, not really reading the notes on the pages – build orders, micro tricks, timings, game mechanics, scribbles in the margins. As she flicks from the end to the beginning, she can see her thinking change – see the tactics become simpler, see where she comes from.

What’s on the inside cover isn’t about the game. There’s some sketches, a siege tank lined in faded pencil, a Terran Marine wearing glasses, and a pretty girl in a ghost combat suit. There’s a name, too. Hwang Miyoung.


	2. Harass

“You there, four-eyes? I said I need to use the computer.”

She can hear the girl screeching beside her. The sound is reaching her ears, and she can recognise the words, but her brain is too busy to put meaning to those words by fitting them into a sentence. She’s thinking about how to win this game. Her opponent went for very early aggression, and she was stupid enough to not defend properly –

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, idiot.”

 A hand is being waved in front of her. How annoying. At least she has her bases in the correct control groups. Might as well take care of her army production while she can’t see the action on the screen -

“Hey, idiot, I said I’m talking to you.” The girl gives her shoulder a hard shove –

That’s annoying. She has to delay her Hellion drop because of this idiot trying to shove her out of her seat. No matter, it looks like her opponent’s mineral line is still undefended. All she needs to do is guide her units through his detection. Drop a scan – see where he is on the map – move her army to guide him away, bait him forward – it’s nothing she hasn’t done before.

It takes ten keystrokes to win the game. First her Hellions deploy from the medivac transports, the “drop” that this kind of attack is named for. Then they rush towards his worker units, and for an instant, there’s an opportunity for her opponent to avoid this – drag his probes away from the incoming devastation. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s not as good as her. Her units’ flamethrowers light up on the monitor, and it only takes another nine seconds until she sees the victory screen appear in front of her -

“Fine. Have it your way.”  The girl takes the drink bottle beside her keyboard, and knowing she can’t dump it on anything electronic without getting in trouble, instead pours it onto the notebook she has next to her mouse. Her notebook. “Now move – “

“Don’t you have some boys to chase after, Hwayoung? Leave her alone. It’s not like she was bothering you or anything.”

The new arrival’s voice is loud and clear, loud enough that Taeyeon looks over shoulder to see if the computer lab supervisor is going to wake up – no, he doesn’t. She turns in her seat to regard the newcomer, and she notes it’s the transfer student. The one that has her entire year wrapped around her finger already. Whatever charms the girl has are not on display as she glares at Taeyeon’s bully.

Tae isn’t sure how this is supposed to work. For a moment she’s afraid that her bully is going to do something similarly extreme from the way she approaches the transfer student. But this isn’t a drama, and her tormentor instead chooses to play it off with a shrug and an eyeroll, strutting out of the computer lab like she always intended to leave.

“Thanks,” Taeyeon replies, drumming her fingers together. She wants to turn back to her computer, but she recalls that it’s rude to not face someone when they’re talking to you.

“Don’t mention it – oh no.” The new girl brushes past her to pick up the soaking notebook. Drops of inky water splatter on the desk as she holds it up for inspection.

“It’s, it’s fine. I mean, um, it’s just a notebook. I can remember most of it anyway.”

“Hey, do you want one of mine? There was a sale at the stationery store.” The girl just asked a question, but she’s already rifling through her backpack. “Here, take it.”

Taeyeon takes the book, turns it over a few times. It’s very pink, but it’ll do. She sits down, takes a pen from her bag, and starts re-writing her notes while she stares back at the girl.

“Thank you….” She flips to the front cover, bare except for the label. “-Miyoung.”

 

///

 

It’s Thursday today. Which actually means no games, just practice maps. It also means _she_ will be there to talk to later.

Eating her lunch takes sixteen minutes. It’s two minutes to walk to the computer lab. The computer takes a minute and a half to start up. She sets her bag down and takes what she needs – pen, notebook, and ruler. Eight centimetres from the edge of the desk to the keyboard. Fifteen centimetres from the keyboard to the mouse, ten centimetres from the keyboard to the edge of the monitor. Measuring all this out takes up one minute out of the game’s loading times.

And then she practices until Miyoung appears. She gave up trying to figure on spotting a pattern after an entire term – Miyoung seemed to come and go as she pleases. Sometimes Miyoung sits down for lunch, tagging along as she wordlessly walks to the computer lab. Sometimes Miyoung’s waiting for her, having already turned on the computer for her. Or maybe she’ll appear halfway through this practice map to ask questions.

“You’re playing your game again.”

“Yeah.”

Miyoung moves around to lean over her shoulder, looking at what’s happening on the screen. “Do you get bored of playing the same level all the time?”

“No. It’s a very complicated, um, level. There’s lots to learn.” Like how to split her forces against charging banelings, how to execute the perfect medivac drop play. Not that Miyoung would understand any of what that meant, not that anyone would. Good thing she doesn’t expect them to. It wasn’t that she thought they weren’t capable, the concepts were quite simple, really. It was just that every time she’d tried to tell someone about it when she was growing up, they’d always tell her to stop. It didn’t make sense to her, at the time, but now she knew this was just how people worked, with their annoying questions and pretending to be interested. Well, with one exception.

Practice ends on a sour note – maybe that keyboard she was using was starting to stick, maybe she was off her game today. And yet despite the scowl on her face and her heavy steps, Miyoung insisted on following along.

Maybe she resented it today, maybe not. But for someone reason, she felt like asking.  “Why do you want to hang out with me?”

“I’m sorry?” Miyoung looks taken aback, clutching her hand at the neck of her blouse.

“I don’t have many friends. I’m not very attractive. And while I have helped with your homework, that’s hardly a reason to waste your break time –“

Miyoung stares at her, and Tae braces for the biting dismissal that everyone who crosses Miyoung gets. That girl had a way with words. “Because you’re interesting, Tae.” Miyoung flaps a hand at her, the same way she dismisses some poor boy that’s trying to suck up to her. “And if I’m totally honest, I’m a little jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“You’re a very driven person, you’re here all the time, playing your game. I don’t understand what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but it’s not just some game to you is it?”

“No….it isn’t.” She wasn’t expecting that question, and she turns to Miyoung. No-one’s ever told her it’s more than a game. Her parents didn’t care, so long as her report card came back looking good. Heck, even some of her online friends didn’t see this as much more than a game.

“My teachers say I’m ambitious and hard-working, but you put me to shame. It’s a little inspiring, really. Makes me want to work harder for my dreams.”

“Oh.” Once again, she’s lost for words. She gets this feeling a lot when she talks to people, but she just lets it pass. But with Miyoung, she always feels like she should be saying something. Anything to stop the blush coming to her cheeks. “What do you dream of?”

“I want to be famous. It’s silly – selfish too – but I don’t care. I want to sing to a stadium. I want to see my face on the billboards in Gangnam. What’s yours?”

Now that’s an easy question. “I want to get better at my game.” That would be enough of an answer, but Miyoung’s smile – the attention – encourages her on. “It’s fun. There‘s an order to things there. It makes sense.”

“Honestly…I don’t understand your game at all.” Miyoung laughs, her eyes two shining smiles. “But I do know that no-one else in school wants to challenge you any more…so you must be pretty good, right?”

Taeyeon lets herself smirk for a moment. “Ah…it’s pretty easy to understand. Here, I’ll show you. See, there’s three different races, the humans, and two different kinds of aliens. Then on the game’s map you send out these units to collect –“

She’s never talked to someone so much in her life.


	3. Power On

_I made it._

Those are the first three words of the text she receives. There’s a lot more, Miyoung rambling on and on about her audition, her parents’ congratulations, just exactly how she was celebrating (going shopping).

Her thumbs hover over the keypad, fingers paused as she considers what to say.

_Congratulations_ _:)_

Is that it? She’s never been good at this.

_Sorry. I have an important tryout tomorrow._

No, now she’s making it about her. You’re not meant to do that.

_Let’s celebrate on Saturday_ _:)_

Better. Within seconds her phone is back in her pocket and her fingers find the keyboard again. If she gets in, they get to celebrate together. If she doesn’t, she has Miyoung to cheer her up.

 

///

 

She rubs her gloved hands together, trying to keep warm. She would wait inside, but it’s a little too warm in there, and she doesn’t want to fall asleep. It’s been 27 hours since she had some rest – too wired after the tournament to sleep. Not the longest she’s been without sleep, but she can still feel fatigue tugging at her. And then she sees Miyoung.

“I made it! Ohmygosh Tae! Tae! I can’t believe it!”

That same excitement rushes through her again when she sees Miyoung beaming at her. Before she can react her friend has her arms around her and is squeezing hard.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry – I know you don’t – “

“No. No it’s fine, it’s fine – “ she mumbles into Miyoung’s shoulder.

“Tae, Tae…did you win? You won, right?”

“Yeah, I won.”

 “I knew you could do it! Come on, let’s go!”

“Ok, but, um, where are we – “

“To celebrate! I’ll buy you something. You need to buy me something too. Are you hungry? You look hungry.” Before she can say anything, Miyoung has looped her arm through Tae’s and is dragging her into the mall. The fatigue returns when her friend drags her through all the shops, and she has to nod along with her fashion suggestions. She’s not really looking at the outfits Miyoung holds up, just the silly grin her friend has. And it’s not a lie when she says ‘that one looks great on you’, because they all do.

And when Miyoung chooses clothes for her, she just smiles and nods. She would wear the same sweats and t-shirt every day if society would let her – but having Miyoung pick things out comes a close second. It’s the same when it comes to food. She will order exactly what she always does, and then Miyoung will lift a piece of whatever new morsel she’s trying and try to feed it to her.

“So…congratulations!”

Tae looks up and smiles. It’s the easiest one she’s ever had to do. “Thanks.”

“How was the tryout? Did you have to beat them all?”

“Ah…no, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not like the online tournaments I’ve been playing in.” Miyoung’s nodding along, even as she continues plucking more sushi from the plastic box. “It’s more like, hmmm. It’s at a net café, they make you play a few games online. Some are against the team, some are the other people trying to get in. This is while the scout watches you.”

“So it’s a bit like an audition then? How were your matches?”

“Um, yeah. You could say that.” She pauses for a moment, wondering if she should continue. Normally she would skip over the match details and strategies, the intricacies of which maps to expand on, which ones to play safe, which ones to seize the initiative – or just fight dirty. After all this time, she still doesn’t want to bore Miyoung, and it takes willpower to just keep talking, even when she wants to pause. But Miyoung’s smile when she speaks of her victories – the way her unnie’s eyes shine when she grins, that’s enough encouragement.

“You’re a genius Tae. You know that, right?”

“Not really. There’s plenty of people better than me. My highest rank was number five, which I held for fifteen days–“

“OK, genius. I get it.” Miyoung smirks as she sips from her bubble tea. “Just cause you’re number five in the country and I haven’t started training yet.”

Oh. That. For a moment, cold suddenly grips her heart. “Right, of course. So what’s this training mean?”

“Tae, I won’t be gone forever. I’ll keep in touch. Sometimes it takes a while to debut, but I think I can do it quickly. They said I have a lot of potential. I bet if I work hard, you’ll see me in…..two, three years. I’ll be famous.”

“Is it up to you? Or do you have to wait to get picked?”

“They have to pick me. But I’m not worried…I’ll make it. I know I will.”

She’s long since learned to not question Miyoung when she says things like that. She would pretty much never state anything with so much certainty, so much confidence. It’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s good at, just that she likes to be careful, to push her limits slowly. Miyoung does what she pleases, and makes it work anyway. So she smiles back instead. “I…I think you will too.”

“If that was anyone else…alright, I’ll take the vote of confidence.” Miyoung finishes off her coffee, looks directly at Tae. “So now that you’ve on the team…what happens now?”

“I play my game. There’s a salary, but the more important thing is the other players. And after lots of practice, I play in live tournaments.”

“What did your parents say?”

She winces a little in her seat, and Miyoung’s hand reaches for hers on the table. “They…came around in the end. The manager helped a lot. And they were worried I’d have to live at the team house, with um, ten guys. We worked something out though, I can keep living at home while I train at the house. And it’s not too far either, which is nice.”

“So how long until you’re in the tournaments?”

“I’m not sure, I have to prove I’m good enough first.”

“You’ll make it. Six months, I bet,” Miyoung says with a smirk.

“Now how are you so sure?” Tae asks, responding to the tease.

“How many guys did you say there were on the team? Ten? They can’t all be ranked higher than number five.”


	4. Push

Victory flashes up on her screen, but the triumphant fanfare in her ears is soon overpowered by the squeaking of plastic wheels on the floor. Her opponent has slid over from one of the other practice room PCs, scratching the back of his neck. Sungwook always did that when he lost, but only to her.

“Ah, good one Tae. Wasn’t expecting the push at my fourth….how did you power up so fast?”

She picks up her book from the desk, shows the page to him. “Stop making bio at eight minutes. Make two factories at this time, that avoids a common drop timing. Then you can push the third base easily at–“

“Alright, hang on. Let me type this up.“

Tae walks over to his PC and shows him the book, not letting go of it for a second. Sungwook leans towards her, squinting at her handwritten scrawl while his fingers hammer at the keys.

“Thanks. Really appreciated.” He gives her a thumbs up, and she tries to curl her lips into a smile for her teammate before she gives up and returns to her computer, powering it down for the night. It’s yet another day staying late at the house – it had happened so often now that staying late had become her usual hours, and what had been ‘on time’ was now early. Now, it was past 10 and she didn’t have to time to dally unless she wanted to miss the train home.

She gathers her things and looks at the phone in her hand. It’s dead silent, the black screen reflecting her tired face back at her. No messages. Nothing from Miyoung - both of them were so busy now. Each time they spoke, no, messaged, it was simply about their days. And it was the same thing every time. The same games, the same practice for the both of them.

And then it lights up with a bright screen and an even brighter smile. She answers right away.

 

“Miyoung?”

“Tae! Oh, Tae! Gosh…I haven’t heard your voice in so long.” Rustling, sniffing. Is Miyoung crying?

“Is everything OK?”

“It’s – no. No, I’m not alright.”

She should be used to this by now, that feeling when she wants to say something, but can’t pick the right words. It always makes her head hurt, but now the pain is in chest too. “I, I’m – what’s not alright?”

 

 

“I’m sick of this. I’m sick of not seeing my family. I’ve just been dancing for five hours straight, and then I have four hours of sleep before I have to get up and do it all again. I have to sneak my phone into the bathroom to call you. No, I am very not OK!”

“Miyoung, um….” She’s never felt more helpless before in her life. “It’s OK, it’s OK,” she mumbles as she hears more sniffing and crying come through the call. “I’m here, I’m here, you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I just – I thought I wanted this, I didn’t….I just don’t know any more. I don’t know if it’s worth it.” Tae knows what Miyoung is like when she’s frustrated or angry. There’s an animation, an energy to her. This isn’t what Miyoung is supposed to sound like – lost for words, struggling to talk through the tears.

“I…I can’t answer that for you. But it’s your dream, right?”

“Yes, I know. It was…I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, sometimes. I – I think I might quit - ”

“Could you imagine doing anything else?”

“No, you’re right.” Miyoung pauses, takes a breath. “That’s like you, right? You and your game.”

The change of subject confuses her. Why are they talking about her now? “Sorry, what do you mean?”

“Tae…your game. Do you ever feel like not playing?” She can’t think of what to say to that. How does she do it? She doesn’t know – it’s just automatic. Like it would take conscious effort to stop herself from playing. “I mean, what if you’re sick. Or you get a bad night’s sleep, or something like that.”

“I just play anyway. “I’m not sure….I just – do it. “I – I’m sorry I don’t have any advice. It’s just the way I am.” The line crackles, the sound of air rushing over the mic as Miyoung sighs. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Tae, Tae, I have to go. But – I want to say….you inspire me. You always have. I’m not going to give up.”

“I don’t doubt that at all.”

“And Tae?”

“Yes?”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Later, she would think about how easy those words were to say, compared to everything else. For now, the line is silent but for the crackle of the call.

 

///

 

She’s lost. She knows it. She fended off the last attack, but her economy is in shambles. There’s the moment in a match, when one player’s lost – she’s seen it on stream – where they take their hands off keyboard and mouse. Her hands aren’t letting her, still hitting the keys – controlling the last of her forces as they fall back to her beleaguered main base.

Now comes the ceremony that the losing player must always conduct. It’s considered impolite to let the enemy waste their time hunting down every last one of your buildings on the map, cleansing them from existence. To be honourable in defeat, she has to type “GG” and leave the match, effectively surrendering to her opponent. Her hands have already given up, lifting from the keyboard and leaving her units without a commander, mindlessly throwing themselves into the enemy.

Somehow she makes it out of the booth, and everything’s a blur. Someone hands her a water bottle, somehow she makes it out of the back of the studio. The people part around her, afraid to get too close as she heads back to the ready room. Thankfully her coach isn’t there to see her slam her fists down on the table.

She’s not sure what’s worse. She could have beaten him, maybe, if she did everything right. It was possible, in some sense. She could have anticipated his rush in the second game. She could have controlled better in her assault on his base in the third game. Her fingers could have moved to press the right keys at the right time and her brain could have thought the correct thoughts -

It’s all possible. And at the same time, she feels like if she had to relive this – play the same match over a hundred times, she still would never win. All the effort, all the practice - a hundred hours, two hundred hours, three hundred – if only it was as simple as that. But she did work hard – bled and cried and burned away those midnight hours – and it wasn’t good enough. Her fingers are fast enough, she can think fast enough to strategize. So why can’t she win? How do you practice for this?

The exit door from the studio opens, and her coach walks out to join her in sitting on the steps. Of course he has to see her now. What’s he going to say? Tell her to quit? Say that she’s not good enough, cause she’s a girl?

“I’ll tell you a story. I used to be a player as well, you know. Brood War. I wasn’t bad either. There was this tournament, 2003 Quarterfinals, I remember. I lost to some guy, Sea, I think. He just destroyed me in every game. I practiced a week non-stop for that guy and still he completely wrecked me. I cried back then too.” He pauses, tilting his head up a little. She can see it in eyes, the last moments of those matches playing back in his mind. She knows that look. “The hard truth is –“

Here it comes.

“- you’re going to have to get used to this, Tae. You’re not like a god like Flash, or Jaedong, or Bisu, or Nestea. Not yet, at least. Which means you’re going to lose, a lot. What makes them great isn’t that they won so much. It’s because they got up off the ground when they lost and still gave it everything. That after they were crushes and lost it all, they threw themselves at it again – and they did it with a smile, and made it look easy.”

“Or you could give up. You’ll be just another ID on the tournament listings. It won’t even be that bad, you’re a smart kid. You can finish high school, go to college, get some office job. You might even coach some new kids in whatever the hot new esport is. But I don’t think you’d be happy with that.”

“I’ll give you….two days off. Call who you want to. Go spend some time with your family. But I expect you back at the house on Thursday.”

She feels like pushing him away, but thankfully he gets up and leaves her alone.

 

///

 

The train ride home is a lonely one. Normally she’d be buried in her notes, thinking of strategies and tactics – or passed out on the seat, exhausted from the day’s practice. Now she’s still wired from the match, but thinking about the game is the last thing she wants to do right now, her eyes unfocusing as she stares out the window, her mind playing back her defeat.

Only people like her walk the streets at this hour – tired, shambling their way home, legs on autopilot. Somehow they still carry her from the train station and back home to the small place above the glasses shop. Only once she’s back in her bedroom do they give out, dumping her face down onto her bed. She’s safe here now, ensconced and alone. With the door closed, her parents won’t be able to hear if she cries into her pillow, she knows that. She fishes her phone out of her bag and her fingers slip across the screen as she makes a call.

“What’s wrong Tae?”

“I-I lost. I didn’t even put up a fight –“ She chokes back more tears.

“Tae, oh – Tae, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

“I don’t understand, I did everything right. It was just as I practiced, and I still couldn’t win.”

She knows, on some level, that this was to expected. That she had to lose badly at some point or the other. It’s a statistical inevitability. And yet that feeling eats at her from the inside. She couldn’t win, because she wasn’t good enough. She’ll never be good enough. And because this all she knows, she’s worthless. She can’t do anything else -

“Tae, listen to me. You belong up there. On the stage, on TV, whatever. Cause you’re brilliant, Tae. Talent, hard work, genius – you have it. I know you do.”

She tries to reply, but all she can do is sniff and swallow her tears.

“You’ll make it, Tae. Get some rest – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

She moves over to desk and sits down. Her finger pushes the power button on her PC, power surging through the black box on her desk as she straightens in her chair.

“I’m gonna play some practice games. Go to bed, Miyoung. It’s late.”

“Alright, Tae. Take of care of yourself.”

“You too. And thank you.”


	5. Interlude: Commentary

“Welcome everyone to the 2012 Season Three GSL finals! I’m Tasteless and I’m here with Artosis, and tonight we’re going to be bringing you coverage of the BEST. ESPORT. EVER.”

“Tonight we’re coming to you live from Haeundae Beach in Busan and I am unbelievably hyped for this final. Tonight’s matchup will be a TvP, which, for the record, is the best matchup. And that’s not even taking into account the players. MC needs no introduction. He’s a mechanical monster like no other. His macro is on point. He’s gunning for his third title and he looks to be unstoppable.”

“On the other side of the bracket we have Tae. She doesn’t have the some pedigree of results that MC has but she completely stomped some real strong players to get her. 3-1 against Byun, she also wrecked DRG in the semifinals as well. But she doesn’t have the same stage experience – she went out in the round of eight two seasons ago.”

“That’s the thing Tasteless, some players thrive under that pressure. They get up there and play some of the best Starcraft of their life. And some of them just crack, because they can’t handle it. And let me be clear, that’s not the fault of any of the players, because they’re competing at the highest level of the hardest multiplayer video game.”

“I really hope she can show up tonight because both of these players, when they’re on form, playing at their best, they can show us some absolutely amazing control and macro gameplay. I’ll have to more to say on them later, but for now we’ll take a look at their stats…”


	6. Close Out

The TV screen shows the arena has filled up now, the sea of plastic seats now under the mass of people. She’ll be up in front of that crowd soon enough. The thought of going up there still makes her anxious – all the noise and lights and eyes on her should be the stuff of her nightmares. But there’s other factors that are in her favour, like the soundproof booth she tried out during the dress rehearsal, and the large noise-cancelling headphones that meant she would be playing in near silence. But more than that, she feels a certain clarity. Every moment of her practice, every waking hour for the past six months, every late night of practice...all of it has led her here, to this place on this day.

For now, at least she has the comfort  of this waiting room.

She takes out her book, runs her fingers along the edges of the weathered pages. After all those hours of practice, there’s no point in opening it to revise – she can remember all of it. It’s more something to do with her hands while she waits.

Someone waves their hand in front of her, and it takes a moment to come up from her thoughts. The first thing she sees when she looks up is a pair of eyes right in front of hers. They’re deep brown and outlined with precision, long lashes smoothed by mascara. The woman pulls back, and now she recognises that it’s Miyoung. It’s like she’s from another world, everything too sharply defined to be quite real – the stage makeup accents her features to an unreal degree under the softer lighting backstage.

“Tae? Hello?” The woman asks.

It’s her. “Miyoung? What are you doing here?“

“I’m performing, silly.” There’s that smile, the one that pulls her eyes into two cute little arcs. “Are you going to watch me?”

“Uhmm, I, uhhh – coach?” she stammers, turning to the man in the seat next to her.

“Hmmm…there’s enough room in the schedule. Will you be OK with the crowd? We can stand at the back.”

She nods. “I want to watch.”

Miyoung beams a smile back at her. “I have to finish getting ready. Hope you enjoy the performance!”

 

///

When she was younger, this place would have been overwhelming – the rows and rows of seats full of people, the speakers are that too loud blasting fast pop beats. It’s still not comfortable – she’s not one for this type of music, and she doesn’t care for the lyrics either. But in this part of the arena cordoned off for the staff, she has something to focus on. Something that lets her block out all of the noise and stimulation that want to invade her head.

It’s the movement on the stage that holds her gaze. The seven women on stage move in perfect synchrony, likes individual fingers on some hand. She watches for when their steps match the beat, when they’re off-beat. She sees when one move is mirrored, when one is repeated across the backup dancers behind them. It’s actually very interesting, and seeing it live makes it stand out more than when watched the music video Miyoung sent to her.

And Miyoung is smiling the entire time. Tae has always had trouble with faces, but the feeling she gets is nothing but joy. This is Miyoung’s dream, this is where she belongs. Her thoughts turn to the stage. She never thought that her passion would bring all of this to her – her teammates who shared passion, the stage that she will be playing on, and of course Miyoung.

It was more than a game, it had always been.

 

///

 

The booth door closes behind her and she’s in another world now, the roar of the crowd now just a low rumble. She sits down and everything is exactly where she left it from the rehearsal, perfectly measured and in place. Other players might have some ritual, some way to psych themselves up, get in the zone. But she doesn’t need any of that. She just needs to start playing and the rest of the world disappears, fading into nothing.

And so it begins. She knows what he’ll do in the first game. MC is a bully in game. Against what he thinks is a worse player, against one who’s choked on stage before, he’ll go for early aggression with his stalker units. And he does exactly that. But she’s ready for him, having started her army production earlier, her marines meeting his stalkers on the field of battle. It’s a solid plan, one she practiced with her team and her coach. The problem is that he’s still really good at playing Starcraft. He just attacks again and again and again, sacrificing everything to produce more and more attacking units. They deplete not only her in game resources but also her attention as he’s coming from seemingly everywhere at once, a neverending stream of his forces besieging her base, one that she can’t outlast.

It’s over in less than ten minutes – she’s lost. But she can handle this loss, she has a plan. Her coach confers with her in the booth in the break between games – he wasn’t expecting her to put up this much of a fight. So just like they predicted he plays it safe, anticipating to try a cheap, early attack, the kind of strategy that allows a weaker player to beat a stronger one. Instead, she goes for the opposite, going for a greedy build that chooses to sacrifice early combat power for economy. By the time his scouts reveal the strategy she’s chosen, her much larger army is already on the move, ready to wipe him off the map. And just for a moment, she lets a smirk curl her lip while the victory screen appears.

It’s on the third game that she starts to think she’s in trouble. He starts to anticipate her strategies, and his unit control is as flawless as ever. That’s why they said he was the best. One loss is fine, that just means she needs to change up her strategy. But the second loss is far worse – because he can read her now, he knows how she will react. And that’s ignoring the fact she’s now down three games to one.

What is it she’s doing wrong? Why can’t she make it work? The frustration comes as an odd tingling down her arms that intensifies into a dull pain, a physical manifestation of the shock in her head. It’s like something is filling her head with static – and when she fights through it, she has no answers. If only she made one mistake, that would give her something to latch onto, something she could focus and fix. But there were too many little things, things she can’t handle all at once. Did she send her scouting units in the wrong direction? Did she need to produce more marines, or less Hellions, or more of this and less of that?

The door to the booth opens and her coach is there, beckoning her to come out. They’re halfway through the series, so she gets a longer break. He leads her backstage, the staff and her team keeping their distance – they know she’s not to be disturbed.

“Coach – I can’t – I can’t do this.”

“Tae, look at me when I’m speaking to you.” It’s an admonishment – his voice is stern, but it’s not harsh either. It’s the same teacherly tone he always has, just like they’re back at the house. “Look at his strats. It’s a two base power push. It’s nothing weird, it’s not a cheese, it’s just solid fundamentals and good micro to back it up. This is nothing you haven’t beaten before. You smashed Ryung all of Wednesday during practice when he was doing this build. You can beat this guy, Tae. You just have to let yourself beat him.”

As she raises her bottle of water to take a drink, she spots someone waiting in the wings of the stage. Someone with her hands clasped together in front of her dress, trying to see around the people in her way. What did Miyoung say to her? That she was brilliant? She doesn’t want to fail to meet that expectation, not just from Miyoung. Her parents, her teammates, her coach too.

But of all their praise, it’s Miyoung’s that matters the most. It’s Miyoung who is here, who’s smiling at her and mouthing to get her words across. _You’re brilliant, Tae. You can do this!_

She stands up and her coach takes his cue to exit, leaving just her and Miyoung in the waiting room. Miyoung extends her hand clasping Tae’s in her own. She’s radiant in her dress and makeup, and suddenly Tae feels very silly in her team shirt and sports pants. From behind her glasses she stares back at Miyoung, meeting those eyes.

“Tae….do you remember that time I called you?”

“Of course I do.”

“That was the night before an audition, you know. I’m only here because of you.”

“That’s…that’s not true. With your talent, all your practice…you would have made it even without me –“

Miyoung shakes her head. “Take the compliment, Tae. And can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“You’re always talking about practice, about wanting to improve, about how there’s always something you can do better. That’s what makes you inspiring.” Now Miyoung stares back, squeezing her hand. “Forget about all that. You’ve already done the work. You’re better than him, you know that. I know it. Now show him, show everyone out there just how brilliant you are.”

Coach opens the door again, beckoning for her to follow. She looks back at Miyoung, giving just one nod before her mind is on the game again.

 

///

 

The staff backstage part for her as she makes her way through the corridor. Someone else might have relished the attention, but not her. Her mind is far away now, detached from the body that strides back into the booth. Once more the soundproof door closes and the rest of the world falls away, leaving her with nothing but the game – and her opponent.

If he wants a fight, she will give him one. So she plays with nothing left to lose, with nothing else on her mind. She picks an agile strategy, one that starts out greedy before she throws everything she has into a series of fast-paced assaults only a few minutes in. The first he holds against, then the second, but the third one breaches his main base. And with that she breaks the game open, streaming her army into his base to destroy him. Three games to two. Just two more to go. When she takes off her headset to stretch, that’s when she hears it , the faint roar of the crowd. They’re chanting her name, cheering for her.

For the next match she asks herself – what would the better player do? What would a superstar player do? One that’s so clearly better? That’s how she has to play. So she chooses the dirtiest, cheapest strategy she knows. Instead of building her forces inside her starting base, she sneaks them past his early scouts to build in a location much closer to his base. It only saves her seconds of travel time – but this early in the game, that’s an eternity. Her attack hits before he even has an army, his few combat units instantly destroyed. Three games each.

It all comes down to this. She’s out of clever ideas, and she’s pretty sure he is too. A lot can happen over six games, and then again over all the matches leading up to this match. There’s only so many strategies you can practice. She goes for a balanced opening, and her scouts tell her he did as so well. Looks like this game will be a long one then, decided by who makes the first mistake in a sequence of thousands and thousands of tiny decisions.

But she’s wrong. His army appears at the edge of her vision much earlier than she was expecting - sending a chill down her back. She’s made a mistake, misread which strategy he went for. The static in her head reaches a peak, threatening to drown everything out. But she can fight it, she can fight him. Every unit, every building is conscripted into her desperate defence as his army marches forward. Zealots charge in, blades cutting down everything in front of them while his Colossi stride behind them, lasers firing. Her helpless workers take the brunt of the assault while her tanks and marines mass behind them, firing back.

And she holds him, the flow of his reinforcements slowing and finally ceasing. She breathes deep. She’s not dead. And it wasn’t that close. But there’s only one way she can win this game now, and that’s by taking it to the late game. Which means only one thing – she needs to attack. It seems paradoxical, but it’s something any decent player quickly has to learn. Her opponent has just expended his army to cripple her economy, which means she now has the advantage in fighting units. So she needs to give back just as good as she got. From amongst the burning buildings and blood spatter on the ground, she selects what’s left of her fighting force and orders them forward. Within the next seconds, the last of her army will die. That’s certain. What matters is how much damage she can do.

And when the last of her forces finally fall, there’s next to nothing left for either of them. She’s forced a reset, both of them now needing to rebuild and re-arm with what’s left. For her, that means another three bases, probably. Mech units, starport units, static defenses. And the most sapping resource of all – her time and concentration. He can’t attack her for probably a good five minutes at least, but that’s not much comfort.

She has to fend him off. Then she has to win. But she’s practiced this. She knows how to do this. How to win. The rest is just details that her fingers fill in for her – moving extra workers from one base to another, building supply depots, constructing new buildings. Those details are remembered in her muscles, not her brain. They’re in the fingers of her left hand as she switches between her units and her bases, they’re in the muscles in right arm and wrist as she flicks the cursor across the screen, directing her soldiers across the map. And she knows it now, she knows he’s running scared, she knows that he knows that she shouldn’t still be in this match. And when players are scared, they make mistakes. He’ll want to attack as soon as he can, find a way to finish her off.

But she’s ready for him this time. She sees him coming, part of his army passing through the vision of one of her scouting units for just a second. That’s an eternity in this game. An orbital scan shows her all of his units, and now he can see that she sees him. There’s no going back now.

He engages.

There’s no slowing down of time, nothing special that happens. It’s just pure concentration as her eyes flit across the screen, seeing everything and nothing at once. A single, low-health marine is pulled back. A siege tank is lifted up by a medivac unit. And this repeats over and over, tens, hundreds of clicks and keypresses happening within a single second. She is everywhere at once, in every unit and seeing everything. And then the confrontation grows as she pushes forward – maybe too aggressively. Maybe not when she sees him commit more and more – a mistake as she brings up the rest of her army on his flank. Part of her sees the big picture – part of her is focused on the details, tasking siege tanks with their targets, switching back to her production to rally in reinforcements. But the wave of her forces is building to a peak, more and more of her units streaming, more and more of his forces falling.

It takes five seconds for her to realise she’s winning – that she’s destroyed enough that he can’t recover. Then comes the longest ten seconds of her life as she picks apart the rest of his units – it’s a formality, really. This almost takes more concentration as her hands start to shake, no, her whole body. She’s done it. She’s won.

Victory flashes on her screen as her opponent concedes the game.

It’s over.

The booth starts to rumble from the crowd noise. She stands up, everything seeming so real, so sharp. Like the concentration she’d been mustering for her game needs a new target. She opens the door to the booth, and looks offstage. Coach is there, tears in his eyes as he applauds her victory.

And then there’s Miyoung just beaming that smile. _I knew you could do it._ Miyoung raises her hand, points to the trophy waiting on the stage. _They’re waiting for you, Tae._

She walks out into the light. Her fingers close around the trophy, seizing it in their grip. She kisses the metal, raising it over her head as the crowd roars. And she roars with them, shouting out her victory.

Today is her day.


	7. Epilogue

“Ahhh! It’s too difficult, I’m telling you.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Just um, careful. Don’t hit my keyboard too hard.”

“Sorry.”

She places her hand over Miyoung’s, moves the cursor for her and clicks on _New Game._ “You did a lot better that time, you’re picking this up pretty quickly.”

“I guess I have an excellent teacher,” Miyoung says with a grin.

Tae returns her smile with one of her own. “Let’s play.”


End file.
